I Will Survive
by TabbyCat33098
Summary: Life after the War isn't so hot for the losing side. But Draco Malfoy doesn't care. He will push through. He will remain strong. He will survive! Told from Draco's POV, after the war. Some chapters are dark, LANGUAGE. Probably very OOC Draco.
1. Survival

A/N: Okay, so my life IRL pretty much SUCKS. It's sucked for a while, actually. I hate it. And I will admit, a few years ago, I actually did have some disturbing thoughts. But I'm over those now. :) But yeah, life atm is really not making me feel good. So I took all my feelings of pain and anger and self-loathing and whatnot and poured them into a fanfic. :) And this is the result. This is a fic told from Draco's POV, after the war. It's kinda about how he keeps going. It actually started as a pretty good description of my life, but then took a life of its own, and magically turned into this.

Don't worry, I'm still working on my other fics. After a week of hiatus, I'm back on the GinRan fic. As well as my Drarry fic. And I had an idea for ANOTHER Drarry fic at about 1:00 this morning. :P So I'll be working on those as well. But I Will Survive is pretty short, so I won't bore you with the A/N. I just have the disclaimer left, and then I sincerely hope you enjoy I Will Survive! As always, reviews are appreciated. They feed me. I live on them. Come on, guys, show me the love! :P Lol! I will answer all those who are logged in through PM, and all anons through another review, something I JUST learned I could do. It's pretty sweet. So anons, defo stick around! But yeah, I'm cutting my ramblings short now. Enjoy!

**DISCLAIMER: Everything here you recognize [aka characters, names, residual plot, references, etc.] belongs to J.K. Rowling. Not TabbyCat33098. The only thing I own is the absolute feelings of pain and self-loathing you will most likely experience throughout this fic. :P**

EDIT: Only changing the title name. If you get a PM or something, I haven't done anything different. :)

EDIT v.2: Only changing this chapter in regards to the Purge. This fic is not being "Purged" as rereading it [any part of it] brings up memories I'd rather not relive. Sorry that this isn't as clean as my other fics, it's just too painful.

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><p><strong>Survival<strong>

Obviously, life right now is unbearable. Wizards sneer at me, mothers hide their children from me, people cross the street rather than walk on the same sidewalk as me.

But I hold my head high. I do not let the hurt and anger show. My mask has been glued in place, because Malfoys cannot be broken.

And I will not break. I will be whole again. It may take some time, but it will happen. I will stay strong. I will not let their cruel laughter and fearful faces affect me. I will survive. Unlikely as it seems, _I will go on._

I would be so easy to grab my wand, the wand returned by Harry Potter, and go on a rampage, rekindling the Dark Lord's ideals. It would be easy to simply slide my gilded knife across my wrists and let the red rivers stream down my arms as the icy pain cleared my mind. It would be easy to just use my silver dagger to slice my throat, or cut my wrists, to let the blood flow until the vessel ran dry.

Yes, it would be so easy to do these things. But I don't. _I will push forward_. It saddens me that what keeps me going, what keeps me _alive_, is not the prospect of Mother's sadness at my death, nor the cold anger that Father, that bastard, would feel at the end of the Malfoy line. No, I have a multitude of reasons, and those are not included.

First and foremost, most likely, is the thought of redemption. The thought that maybe, some day, I might be good enough for the world again. And so I quietly help restore Hogwarts to its former glory. I stand in the shadows, removing the rubble. I run my small apothecary in Knockturn Alley, raking in just enough Galleons to survive. And I continue to live.

But that is only my outward drive, the drive that I use as my shield. For I have an inner hope as well, on that I would never reveal. Not under Veritaserum, not under _Crucio_, not even under the threat of _Avada Kedavra_. I hope, some day, to repay the debt I owe the Golden-bloody-Trio, the debt I owe Harry Potter. The debt I incurred when they rescued me from the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement, when they rescued Greg, when they attempted to rescue Vince. It would feel like cheating to end my existence without having repaid my debt. For some reason, I don't want to let down Harry Potter.

Which brings me to my last reason, on that I have not full acknowledged to myself, even. I don't want to let Potter down. I see the hope in his eyes, that some day, scum like me, like Yaxley, like Avery, can reform. I attend his rehabilitation sessions, one of the few who actually show up on a regular basis. I try to show that _I want to change_. I see the glow in his eyes. The glow of happiness. And I know that that glow is reflected in my own eyes, albeit for a different reason. My glow is the glow of _hope_. Hope that I can change, hope that I can reach the standards Potter has set. Hope that I can be redeemed.

And so we come full circle.

Surprisingly, it doesn't feel that bad, being on Potter's good side. I don't understand why we hated each so much back in school. Could I really have been that spoiled? Just because he refused my offer of friendship, could I really have been as cruel as to attempt to make his life hell? Maybe if I hadn't, I would've come out on top.

But it isn't too late to change. At least, that's what Potter tells us. And I'm taking his words to heart for once. I will change. For change is the key to survival.

_And I will survive._


	2. Freedom

A/N: Okay, I know I marked this as complete, but I'm adding a chapter anyways. So I figured out that I get pissed off at the world a lot. And I know that writing helps soothe me. It makes me feel happier. So I decided to combine the two. Whenever I'm pissed off, I'll write a chapter for this story and add it. The title will probably be whatever the chapter is about. This fic will always remain COMPLETE. There is no plot. All chapters are told from Draco's POV unless otherwise specified. And reviews are still always awesome. I'm sorry to the poor readers who are basically reading my anger personified and turned into Draco. Sowwee. :(

So the basis for last chappie was that I was just pissed off in general. Nothing fancy. The basis for this chapter is a little more painful, actually. I was telling my parents about this movie I want to see, Hachi, which is based on the book Hachiko. And I was telling them what it was about. First of all, they didn't even listen, which pisses me off REALLY BAD. And then my mom's like, "Okay, let's be adults now" and starts telling me about responsibility and how I always ignore my responsibilities. Which is bullshit because I've been swamped with responsibility all my life. And then she's like, "Is this impacting you?" And I'm like, "Yeah, it's telling me that you think everything I do is wrong, when all I really want is just one day where you love and pamper me without asking for anything in return." And they yelled at me and told me I had been pampered so much, with so much freedom and whatnot. Which got me thinking, I've NEVER been free. My parents have controlled every aspect of my life, from who my friends are, to what shows and movies I watch, to what I read, to what I think, even. And I realized, I could write this from Draco's perspective. So I did.

Anyways, enough ranting. Sorry about that. Disclaimer from last chapter applies to all others following that one. :) Enjoy. :)

**I Will Survive-Freedom**

What is this concept called freedom? This glorious thing that we are all supposedly born with? Why are we all told that freedom can never be taken away?

For freedom is a lie, nothing but an illusion. How can there be freedom when one man is worshipped for a scar and one man is scorned for a scar? When the Ministry idolizes one man and watches every move of the other? Potter could get away with murder, but if I so much as accidentally squish a spider, I face Azkaban. He has total control of the Ministry, but the Ministry has total control over me. They watch his life to learn and improve, but they watch my life to find a reason to kill me. How is this freedom?

I am constantly told what I can and cannot do. I can only leave my home when accompanied by an Auror. I am only allowed to have a certain amount of Galleons per month. I can only use the most basic spells. I cannot brew my own potions. I cannot live in normal Wizarding society. I cannot enter the Ministry without the express written permission of about a million different people. Is this freedom?

They say freedom comes with responsibility. They tell me I had my freedom, but I ignored my responsibility. There are so many things wrong with this I don't even know where to start.

First, when have I ever had freedom? When I was a child, I had to do everything Father told me or suffer the consequences. Even if I disagreed, I had to obey his every command. Then I grew up and went to Hogwarts. I was free to be friends with whoever I chose. But Potter declined my offer of friendship. And why? Because Malfoys should not be associated with. That in itself is an injustice, but I shall talk about that at a later date. After that day, because Potter hated me, the whole school hated me. Even Snape, charming man that he was, never showed the care that a godfather should. I became known as the Ice Prince of Slytherin. And through all this, I was free to build whatever reputation I wanted. And then came sixth year, and the Dark Lord. I was forced into service, the lives of my family resting on me. I attempted to kill Dumbledore. I was told that I could choose to become Light. And yet I knew that if I did, I would never see Mother or Father again. And now, after everything, I am watched by the Ministry. They control my very thoughts. Is this freedom

And then, what if your life is ruled by responsibility? All through my childhood it was "Malfoys do this" and "Malfoys don't do that". I had obligations for everything. I was expected to be polite and aristocratic from the tender young age of six instead of being rude and childish and actually laughing on a regular basis. I had to be interested in bureaucracy and politics instead of Quidditch and games. I had to join the Dark Lord when he came back to power and uphold the pureblood supremacy Father valued so much instead of joining some random school club and upholding inter-House unity. I was obligated to carry on the Malfoy line. I was responsible for marrying Astoria Greengrass, a respectable, rich Pureblood with connections in all the right places instead of marrying someone else I loved. I could have loved Pansy (I don't) or the Weaselette, heaven forbid, and it wouldn't have mattered. These were my responsibilities. They ruled my life. How, then, can you tell me I had freedom?

And what if I did uphold my responsibilities? Those were my responsibilities, and I upheld them as best I could. I never frolicked in the sunshine as a child, which is why my skin is so pale. I became interested in politics, and I now aspire to get a job in the Ministry someday. I joined the Dark Lord, upheld the pureblood supremacy, and that is why I am hated so much today. I married Astoria, even though I despise her falseness and high pitched giggle. She irritates me beyond belief, almost worse than Potter. I did what I was told I had to. And you forget, I am only seventeen. Seventeen years old, with the weight of my small world on my shoulders. The world that has come crashing down around me. They tell me I did not uphold my responsibilities, but they do not understand what responsibilities I was given. They tell me I was careless, but they conveniently forget that I was too young to know better, to break away. They tell me I abused my freedom, but they do not understand what freedom is.

But I suppose that I have some perverse freedom even today. I have the freedom to change. And I will. I will become better. I will become stronger. And I will become worthy of this thing called freedom.


	3. Appreciation

A/N: Okay, so over the last few days, I've been told repeatedly by my parents that I really am no use, I can't do anything right, all that lovely stuff. And I told them I was feeling underappreciated, and my dad said he shows appreciation by making sure I'm ready for life, not giving me a hug. And I said that when you yell at me while preparing me for life, I don't feel appreciated, and sometimes, after a bad day, I really want that hug. And so he said that I was wrong and he was right and that he never knew when I had had a bad day. Even though to me, it's pretty obvious. When I have a bad day, I come home, get pissed off easily, and say, I had a bad day.

But yeah, I'm pretty pissed off, and sad. And I had suicidal thoughts again a few days ago, after so long of keeping them suppressed. :( I'm just too scared to actually do it, luckily. So I needed to work off some steam, and this is the result. As you can probably tell, I didn't really give a damn about whether or not Draco was OOC in this chapter, because it's waaaay off the mark. :( Sorry bout that. I just have a policy that when I finish a story, like really and truly finish, I never go back and edit it, unless it's to add a little more detail as I type it up.

Also, I may take a break from writing. I'm just not feeling it right now. :( Sorry. But as always, reviews are awesome. :) But I now leave you to continue reading my little rant as I try to sleep. Enjoy. :)

**Appreciation**

Sometimes, when I walk down the street, people try to hex me. They yell at me, call me scum, insult my parents. They tell me I should've died in the war, should've burned in the Room of Requirement. They blame me for things that happened so long ago, things that aren't my fault. And sometimes I yell back, when the insults get to be too much. I tell them I'm sorry I was born to Death Eaters. I'm sorry I'm pureblood. I'm sorry I tried to kill Dumbledore to save my family. I tell them I'm sorry Yaxley's an idiot, sorry Bellatrix was deranged, sorry Voldemort was a mass murderer. And most of all, I say I'm sorry they're stuck in the past.

When they tell me I should be dead because their family already is, all I want to say is "It wasn't my fault." How can they blame a seventeen-year-old for a mass murderer's problems? Why is it that people think I'm responsible for all their issues?

I think I know why. They just want a scapegoat, a victim to push all their guilt onto to make themselves feel better. Lucky for me, I happen to be their scapegoat. And I lie there and take it until I explode, because I don't know how else to manage.

Mother and Father don't help either. They blame me, too. They tell me I should've killed Dumbledore when I had the chance, should've worked harder to please the Dark Lord, should've been better somehow, though even they don't know _how_. They're pushing their failures onto me, too, because they don't want to deal with them themselves. Thank you Mum, Dad. I knew you cared.

But I don't mind the blame as much, because I know that it is partially true. What irks me beyond anything, even worse than Harry Potter, is that the blame has overshadowed any appreciation I might have been shown. When people call me worthless, do they stop to think about how I attempted to save the life of their bloody Saviour? When the insult my parents, do they remember how Mother lied to the Dark Lord about Potter's supposed death? No, they don't. And why? I doubt even they know.

Appreciation. The thing that all people crave. Everyone wants to be told they have a purpose, that they're not useless. And I'm no exception, though I used to pretend to myself that I was above such petty emotions. No, even the Ice Prince of Slytherin wants to be shown that he's alive for a reason. But as much as I want it, appreciation is a strange concept to me. It has always been missing from my life. If you played my life back and looked for it, I suppose all you would find would be a big, gaping black hole.

Mother tells me that I _was_ appreciated, but she and Father had a different way of showing it. What she means, and what I heard, is "I'm just spouting bullshit to make you feel better." When I was a child, my parents found fault with everything I did. I was not sitting up straight enough, I was showing too much emotion, my work was sloppy. Even when I brewed my first potion, a simple sleeping draught, Father slapped me for using the lab without permission.

At Hogwarts, none of the teachers liked me very much, except for Snape and that absolute _hag,_ Umbridge. My talent as Seeker was never appreciated because Potter always caught the Snitch before me. In fact, most everything I did was overshadowed by the accomplishments of Harry bloody Potter, the Boy-Who-Was-Superior-To-All-Others. And even in sixth year, when I singlehandedly attempted to aid the Dark Lord's attack on Hogwarts—and almost succeeded, too—my courage was not appreciated. No, all people thought was "Draco Malfoy has turned to the Dark side."

And now, after the War, appreciation is almost impossible. Sure, I've heard Potter say a hundred times that he's grateful to me and my family, and people rarely dare to insult me in his presence. But never have I been shown true gratitude or appreciation. Never have I been told that my life is not worthless. Quite the opposite, in fact, as people tell me on a fairly regular basis that my very existence on this planet is worthless. And when no one wants to listen, how I do I prove otherwise?

No, appreciation will always remain far from my grasp. I'm resigned to that, just as I am resigned to many other things. But maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to prove to myself—myself and the world—that I am not useless. That I have reasons to be appreciated. And that my life is just as important as everybody else's.


	4. Darkness

A/N: I'm back, shortly. My life is just...really bad, right now. The suicidal thoughts have returned with a vengeance, and once I even went past actually imagining what it would be like, and actually though about how easy it would be to just OD, or something. I'm just too scared to actualyl do it. And also, I don't really want to give my family what they want.

See, I've come to realize, my family doesn't really love me. Something happened today, and it seems really petty in hindsight, but it was kinda the final point where I realized that no matter what, my parents weren't ever going to think of me as something to be proud of. Lately, they've been really unencouraging. Like, everything I do is disappointing. I took the SAT recently, and got a 2130. I'm freakin' 14 [almost]. That's amazing! And the average is only about 1800. That's freakin' fantastic. And I'm really proud of myself, I've been preparing for two years. But my dad's like, "My goal for you was 2200." No "Good job, I'm sooo proud of you, let's go have ice cream to celebrate!" No, it was "You haven't lived up to my expectations." :( So obviously, I'm a little sad. And then today just generally sucked, and my parents and little sister just made it even worse. Tbh, they don't know when I'mhaving a bad day, because I usually am able to mask my sadness and general suckishness pretty well. But the very fact that I have to wear a mask pretty much 24/7, taking it off only when I'm just about to sleep so I can silently cry myself to sleep, makes me really sad.

But you don't want to hear me rant. I really appreciate the people who put up with my shit, because this probably would have scared all other long ago. I may have said otherwise before, but I've just realized that I really wouldn't give a damn if you don't review this fic. In fact, I probably would be happy, because I wouldn't be getting a crapload of just pity and mock sympathy. So just ignore that little review button, and I'll be happy. :) Unless you really want to review. Although I probably won't reply to the reviews in this story.

Draco is really really OOC this chappie. And some of the events might be kinda confusing, or out of sync with previous chapters. Why? Because when I wrote this, I didn't stop to put it in Draco's perspective, or to make sure it matched up with hte previous chappies. Sorry about that. And I now leave you to read Darkness. :)

**Darkness**

I have a dark side. A lot of people say they didn't expect this, because I always seem so calm, so collected, so together, so inherently _kind_, and that only my father's influence and name is the stain on my own, the corruption I have undergone. Then some others say that of course I have a dark side, I'm Draco Malfoy. The two are synonymous.

But my dark side goes much deeper than that. It is darker than anyone would expect, and so much more different. I do not harbor strange feelings of going on a killing spree. I do not want to whip out my wand and cast _Avada kedavra!_ at any moving target. And neither do I want to take power as the next Dark Lord.

No, my dark side is more self-centered than that. I do not want the world to suffer for what I've done, what my family has done, for what they've done to me. Instead, I just want the pain to end. I want to take a step that rings of finality, a step that will ensure the pain will never haunt me again.

I want to die.

And not at the hands of someone such as Yaxley. No, my vanity prevents that. I want to take that step myself. Perhaps just _Avada kedavra!_ myself. Or maybe do something more Muggle than that. Maybe tie a rope around my neck, throw it around a fan, and jump off a chair. Maybe cut my wrists, bleed to death, so that when they find me, at least they can see the blood and the stains that I'm covered with, invisible though they might be. Or maybe take a few too many sleeping pills, allergy pills, pills in general. Just one glass of water and half a bottle of medicine, and it'll all be over.

And then there are times when I feel less drastic. When I think, I just want to do something that will take my mind off this pain. Maybe take my engraved dagger, the one with the ivory hilt, and slide it across my arm. Let the sharp pain push everything else out of my mind. I've heard, read, seen accounts that say cutting is the most amazing thing in the world. That that moment of clarity provides escape from anything and everything. I want to let the blood flow down my wrists, let the warm liquid spill, let the impurity present in my body bleed out of me. I want to escape, escape the pain, escape the humiliation, escape the dirtiness of my soul.

But the darkness is present inside my soul. The darkness that threatens, every waking moment, _it_ _threatens,_ threatens to engulf me, to submerge me, to take control of my very being. The darkness has no shape, no form, no name, even. It just _is_. And it _is_ to torture me, to keep me on my toes, to make me worry, worry about if it is creeping closer or slinking farther away. And it makes me paranoid. I think that every little thing could be what makes me snap.

When Father was allowed to send his monthly owl-message, he owled me. He sent me the letter, and poured all of his hatred into it. He told me of his displeasure, of his disappointment, that I had not used my resources to get him out of prison. That I had not bribed my way into good graces again. That I was allowing myself to be humiliated. He threatened to have me disowned when Mother or Avery or Yaxley or Dolohov or another one of his Death Eater chums bailed him out. He threatened many other things, too, things that I'm not willing to share, things I'd rather shove into the dark recesses of my mind. And I feared my darkness would feed on my weakness and creep over me, like a veil, blurring my vision of reality.

When Mother began weeping, weeping for her lost life, her lost friends, her lost husband, and I could do naught but offer her empty assurances. When she blamed me for her loss, I, who was not able to successfully kill that senile fool Dumbledore and regain the grace of the Dark Lord. When I told her he would've killed me to get the wand, she said maybe it would have been for the best. It was better that I was dead, rather than her having to undergo the pain and humiliation she is now. And I asked her, doesn't she love me? Would she really rather have me dead? And never mind that, what about the pain I have to endure? Do I not count? She simply turned away. And the darkness posed a threat then, and I worried it would use my hurt and anger as a gateway into my body.

And I look at the world, and I see that they would be so much better off without me. That they would be happier, that there would be one less evil idiot to sully that illusion of perfection, that false image, that they hold so dear. And I almost _invite_ the darkness in, almost _beg it to enter_.

But then my rebellious nature surfaces, and I realize that to do that, I would only be giving them what they want. I would be playing right into their hands, falling neatly, _ever so neatly_, into the trap they've set. And something inside me won't let me. Won't let me do that, won't let me be used, won't let others feel like they can dictate what I do, won't let anyone control me but myself.

So I suppress the darkness, deny it entry, refuse to be controlled. I tell it no, I tell it it won't win, I tell it to go to hell because it's not possessing me. And I help the minimal light inside of me struggle to some out on top.

I rebel. And through rebellion, I conquer the darkness that threatens me each day, each hour, each moment, each second. I conquer it, over and over again, and _I will not let the darkness conquer me_.


	5. Insecurity

A/N: I finished typing this in the middle of the Insect Invasion. Lots of bugs in my house, it's kinda creeping me out a bit. But yeah. This is cause by a few incidents a few days ago, when my dad constantly pointed out the bad stuff. *thinks* It's really been happening for a while now. All my parents do is point out the bad, not the good. But it's kinda taken a toll, and I'm left wondering, am I really that bad? Do I really need to be insulted for every little thing?

This may or may not be continuous to the rest of I Will Survive. I dunno. Reviews, though appreciated, are not required, as I doubt this one is one people want to read. But yeah, drop me a PM or review if you have a commish or something. Other than that, enjoy (?) Insecurity!

v.2: I'm back, this A/N is being typed the next day. I came back to this, saw the A/N was REALLY short, thought I'd elaborate.

Yeah, I had a party last night, so I was hyper off of stress and caffeine and energy. And I couldn't sleep, until, like, 2:00 in the morning. And by then my eyes wouldn't shut and I was like, "Man, screw dis." So I stayed up late to finish some fanfics, and work on mafia, and blah blah blah. But about 2:20 AM, I think, I see these two giant craneflies on my wall. And I flipped out. So I didn't get this uploaded. It took me about an hour and a half to stop chucking things at them to kill them and run to my parents' room in tears.

But yeah, this was written because lately, I've noticed my parents are quick to point out every mistake I make, and everything I do wrong, and how I'll never amount to anything, and that I'm stupid, and the course I wanna travel in life is too inferior, and that I HAVE to be a doctor or they'll disown me, and that the fact that I like engineering more is just a "mindset" that I've locked myself into. But over the last year or two, they've slowly worn down my self-confidence until I basically have nothing left. Like, I never know if I'm doing the right thing, or even what to do anymore, and I'm always afraid people will exploit my weaknesses, and I'm trying harder than ever to at least PRETEND to stay strong. It's a struggle, but I haven't lost yet.

Reviews are appreciated, I guess, but I really don't care with this fic, since I'm not writing it for fun. I write I Will Survive to simply explode about all the negativity inside of me, and don't expect that many people to appreciate it. That said, if you're brave enough to read Insecurity, goa head.

**Insecurity**

I look around me and all I see is hatred. Hatred etched on their faces, hatred taut in their clenched fists, hatred burning in their flashing eyes. I keep my head down and try to escape their notice. I shrink into myself to hold myself together. I can't afford to fall apart now, not after everything I've gone through to survive this long.

But how do I stay whole when the glue is being shipped away? When everywhere I go, people jeer at me, insult me, call me names. There used to be a time when for every insult, there would be twenty compliments. A time when the Malfoy name was one of the most feared and respected names in England. No everything has changed. Even my parents look at me with hatred. My father tells me I should've done a better job, should've killed Dumbledore faster, should've been a better Death Eater. My mother remains silent, but I can tell she sides with him. She blames me as well.

And yet, neither one stops to think that I was only a troubled sixteen year old. I was worried about schoolwork and Potter and faulty Vanishing cabinets. I had no experience, no help, no guiding hand. I was—am—lost and confused. I strived for acceptance, and the worry that I could be rejected at any time drove me mad. How could I have done a better job? I repaired a bloody Vanishing cabinet, for Merlin's sake! And yet my father wasn't proud. Oh, Salazar forbid, my father _ever_ be proud.

I remember, back in my first few Hogwarts years, how I was an arrogant, spoiled, self-serving brat. I thought the world was mine for the taking; you know, because I was a Malfoy. Now I look back on those years and laugh. Life isn't that easy. Life will never be that easy. Life is about pain, betrayal, torture, anger, grief, trials and tribulations, seeing if you can grow a mask fast enough.

My mask, as it is, didn't come in until sixth year. And even then, I suspect it had started to grow during the end of fifth year, when the Dark Lord attacked the Ministry of Magic. Fifth year was arguably the best year of my life. Umbridge loved me, Dumbledore was sacked, Potter was humiliated—how could I ask for anything more? For a while, I really thought I had found my place. I had shifted from friend to friend, alliance to alliance, for so long, but now I could stop. I could relax. I should've known better.

Life has a painful way of reminding you that evil never rests for long. Sixth year came long, and with it, more fear and pain and terror than I have ever known. I was backstabbed several times, my emotions were toyed with, I was thrown around like a rag doll. All feelings of safety and security fled me. I was left wondering who I should trust. Even Professor Snape seemed suspicious to me. I slammed my shields down and hoped to Salazar that I would succeed. And even then, I had to be rescued, which made me wonder if I would ever be good enough.

I've talked about the darkness that threatens to consume me. For the longest times, I simply accepted it. Perhaps it was a side effect of joining the Dark side. Perhaps I was just born with it. But it was there, and suddenly, I had to learn to cope with it, and how to stop it from taking over my soul.

But I did some soul searching recently, when I had an abundance of time on my hands, and I realized that the darkness was born out of weakness. In sixth year, I felt no security. I did not know what I was doing. My mental defenses were weak as I struggled to gain acceptance. And in that moment, when I was left unsure of who I was, the darkness rushed into me.

I remember my first few years wistfully. I used to be so cocky and sure of myself, unafraid of ever having to rebuild myself. I knew exactly who I was: Draco Malfoy, ice Prince of Slytherin. I had friends and minions, and knew exactly how to deal with my enemies. There was no reason for me to second-guess myself.

Now, that is all I do: second-guess myself. Am I really worth anything? Or am I just a waste of space? Can I manage to do anything right? Why are insults hurled at me because of choices I was forced to make? Harry Potter himself testified that I saved his life, and I attend his rehabilitation program regularly. Is that not proof enough? Don't they see that I'm trying to kill the darkness I war with? Or are they right, and the darkness is destined to stay rooted within me, fighting until it wins?

My parents do nothing to help. They do not see the turmoil inside me. They do not know that emotional pain I've gone through every day for the last three years. Partially, this is because I don't let them see. They stay at home all day, every day. When I return home after completing the day's errands, I tell them that nothing happened other than that a few insults were thrown my way. I do not reveal that hexes were thrown at me, and I was defenseless to do anything but cast a Protego charm, as my wand is blocked against higher magics. I do not tell them I had rotten produce thrown at me. I do not tell them that several people called my manhood and my bravery into question. I do not tell them that I am sincerely wondering if I am a coward, and if choosing death over this world would be brave or cowardly.

But partially,t hey just do not want to see. They choose not to see my slight limp as I walk to my room, cause by a misaimed Petrificus Totalus. I cannot cast Finite, as for some reason, the Ministry believes it is too powerful for me.I just have to wait for the spell to wear off, which could take weeks. They choose not to notice the slight stains left on my clothing where the produce hit me. They choose not to see the pain rooted in my eyes, the pain cause by one question. And they choose not to know the question I ask myself every day.

Who am I?

Am I a burden? Am I a waste? Am I stupid? Am I a know-it-all? Am I arrogant? Am I rude? Am I hateful? Am I a friend? Am I a foe? Am I a terrified child? Am I a mature adult? Am I an assassin? Am I a killer?

Who am I?  
>All they do is make it worse. As I seek answers, they hinder me. My father has brief spells of uncontrollable rage at random intervals. During these rages, he will find me and burst into my room, and start spewing insults at me. He will call me weak and a coward and tell me that I never should've been born. Mother will lead him away and tell me that he is not in his right mind and that he doesn't know what he's saying and that I shouldn't believe him. But they're lies, all of them. Secretly, she agrees with what he says. Secretly, she sides with him.<p>

I like to think I'm strong. I like to pretend that the insults don't hurt me. I like to tell myself that I'm above it all. But the truth of the matter is, I'm human, too, just like everyone else. I have emotions and feelings as well. I need reassurance, too. But they never come.

Reassurance. It's been a long time since I took that for granted. No, all I crave is the sincere knowledge that I'm worth something, and that everything will be okay. I crave it, and crave it, until I think I'll explode, but still it never comes. Perhaps that is why I feel Potter is my safe haven. He is the only person who does not treat me like dirt. He's the only one who pushes me to realize that there is some ounce of good nestled deep inside me.

He has become my confidante of sorts. When the pain and humiliation gets to be too much, I put all my thoughts down into a letter and Floo it to him. Almost immediately, he responds by scolding me for believe=ing the lies that the world speaks. He tells me to give a damn what they say. He tells me that I am a beautiful person, inside and out. He tells me that I am witty, clever, charming, handsome, and altogether fabulous, and that the world doesn't know what it's missing. And even thought Pansy and Blaise tease me about having a crush on the "Golden Boy," I continue to turn to him for help. Because no matter how hard Pansy and Blaise try, they will never be able to get rid of the inferiority that defines me. Only Potter gives me some semblance of security.

Because that's what it all boils down to. Security, or the lack thereof. Insecurity. Insecurity is something that only weaklings allow to take a hold of themselves. So perhaps that means I'm weak. But I'll be damned if I let that stop me. I will keep searching for answers, and the insecurity can go to hell if it likes, because I will succeed. I will be triumphant. I will find my answers; I will find who I am. And I will throw off this pesky insecurity and regain my old strength. Draco Malfoy will not go down without a fight. I will find security.  
>And I will not let them put me down again.<p> 


End file.
